


The Surgeon General Can Go Fuck Himself

by pikeisaman



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Humor, M/M, Smoking, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikeisaman/pseuds/pikeisaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smoking is bad for you? Indiana thought he had prepared himself for some culture shocks (decade shocks?) when he followed Marty to the 1980's, but nothing could have prepared him for this. <br/>He's not addicted though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surgeon General Can Go Fuck Himself

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I started taking my Marty/Indy crack semi seriously, and everything spiraled out of control from there. It's pretty old, which says something about how bad my obsession for this crack has gotten.

When Marty first informed Indiana about the medical side effects of smoking, Indy had laughed them off. After all, everyone Indy knew (had known? Time travel was hard on grammar) smoked. Even Marty himself smoked, claiming that it was practically a requirement to be a musician. When Marty pointed out the warning on the side of his pack (SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING) Indy moved into shock. It was one thing to find out that cigarettes were bad; it was another to see it written down on the side that they caused cancer and birth defects. From shock it was an easy step to annoyance.

“Well what the hell isn’t bad in the future huh,” he grumbled to Marty as they stood outside the college building (which recently implemented a no smoking policy), fumbling with his lighter in the cold, “You’d think that if it was so bad people would stop smoking all together.”

Marty shrugged, “It’s supposed to be really addicting, I guess.” He tried to practice his smoke rings in the brisk air.

“Addicting my ass,” Indy finally got his cigarette lit and he savored the first inhalation, “People can’t take responsibility for themselves anymore.”

“Whatever,” sighed Marty, “It’s really cold out here.”

Indy could remember when he was little and his mom was alive, (and his dad was slightly more involved in the real world) that Marcus used to come over for dinner sometimes. His mom would cook something nice, and afterwards Marcus and his dad would go into the study where they would smoke pipes. When mom was finished clearing up, she’d go in there too, but for the most part Indy only ever saw her smoke Lucky Strikes.

Marcus and his dad were still alive (used to be alive?) so two out of three wasn’t bad odds, as far as Indy was concerned.

Still, the idea that he was actually going to die a horrible death permeated the new world that Indy found himself in. It was with a heavy heart that he suggested to Marty that maybe they should stop smoking, if it was really all that bad for them (he wasn’t exactly convinced of that).

“Quit smoking?” Marty thought it over as they were walking home (80’s cars were too restricting for Indy), “I guess that would be a good idea.” He sounded as reluctant as Indy felt, but they decided to go ahead anyway.

Indy made sure that his last cigarette forever was right after they finished having sex. He lingered over it, his heart heavy. Marty made sure his last one was after he wracked a significant amount of noise on his guitar, Indy wisely withheld his judgment on that.

The first day went alright, for the most part.  They walked to school, smelled the flowers, breathed in that refreshing oxygen, all that corny shit that they talked about on those awful psas that Marty showed Indy on tv. Throwing out the packs he kept in his office seemed like a waste of money, what with everything being so much more expensive in Marty’s time, but he did it anyway to prove a point. He wasn’t addicted to anything. 

 

* * *

 

“This is bullshit,” muttered Indy to himself as he hunched over on the back porch, at 6 in the morning. He waved the cigarette smoke away frantically with his hand, Marty would be up in a couple of hours which gave him enough time to rid himself of the 1, 2, 3, 4, _5_ cigarette butts littering the ground at his feet. He popped a couple of mints into his mouth, and carefully slide his pack back in its hiding place.

Okay so quitting didn’t go as well as planned. Indy lasted about two weeks before he was sneaking away to chain smoke in the cold for 30 minutes at a time. As far as he could tell Marty hadn’t relapsed, if only judging by his increasingly foul mood. The kid still managed to work up a smile of congratulations for him every morning, but luckily Indy had learned how to smother his conscience long ago.

“Morning, Indy,” sighed Marty as he practically oozed his way down the stairs, blearily eyed and frowny of face. Indy didn’t bother looking up from his coffee at the kitchen table, but he grunted in return. Marty stumbled past him on the way to the coffee machine, and he stopped to give Indy a kiss on the neck.

“Day 24,” he said, sounding completely resigned to his fate, “That’s like 3 weeks and a half.”

Indy pretended to read his newspaper, “It’s been walk in the park.”

Marty scratched at his jaw, “Yeah, easy as shit.”

He yawned, it had been harder than normal for him to fall asleep lately. Indy had, had that symptom as well, but it had gone away once he started smoking again. See, smoking was good for you in some ways, what a crock of 80’s bullshit this all was.

Later that day Marty nearly pitched a fit over some friend insisting that rock was dead and again when another classmate asked him to cover a Grateful Dead track. Indy was up to half a pack at a time in his office, with the smoke detectors turned off. Probably not the best idea, but Indy had faced down Nazis back in the day, so he figured a surprise fire wouldn’t kill him.

“I’m not addicted,” Indy snarled as he sat with his head out the window of his 5th story office window, “It ain’t in me.”

The office phone rang, Marty nearly strangled a folk singer in his class who tried to teach him acoustic guitar, would Dr Jones please take him home?

“I’m sorry Indy,” said Marty contritely, rubbing his temples, “I’m just not taking this whole quitting thing as well you are I guess.”

Indy shrugged nonchalantly, “We can’t all be me.”

By the end of the month Indy was up to two packs a day, which by far surpassed his average of one cigarette day before this whole fiasco started.  He started to catch a light cough from all his time outside in the cold morning air, which he ignored. Marty fussed over him (vastly improving his mood), made him start wearing scarfs to school, and couldn’t understand why Indy wasn’t getting better. 

As it turned out, Indy’s mild cough was actually a mild case of bronchitis, which untreated lead into turn to a not so mild case of pneumonia. The pneumonia in turn led to Indy collapsing on the kitchen floor at 6 am for an extremely alarmed Marty to find at 7.

“So you never quit at all.”

Indy shook his head, it hurt too much to speak and he didn’t want to waste energy explaining that he had actually quit for about two weeks nonverbally. Marty rolled his eyes at him from his spot next to Indy’s bed.

“I should be pissed you know.”

Indy nodded his head in agreement.

Heaving a sigh, Marty stroked Indy’s hand, “Still I guess you got what you deserved.”

Indy coughed

* * *

 

“I want a fucking cigarette,” grumbled Indy as he lay on the couch ‘recuperating’ (ie, bored out of his fucking mind).

“You already had one today,” Marty reminded him cheerfully as he fluffed up Indy’s pillows (Indy mashed them into lumps after he was done), “One a day, that’s what you said.”

 “I’m a grown man I can make my own-“ Indy interrupted himself with a massive coughing fit, painful enough that after he just slumped back onto the lumpy pillows and glared at nothing in particular.

Marty gave him an absurdly adoring look, “I’ll make you some coffee.”

He bent down to give Indy a kiss on the forehead, Indy could smell the smoke on his clothing and he nearly wept.

Again.


End file.
